


The Definition of Insanity

by astrapoetica



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Knifeplay, Light BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-06-30 15:49:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15754842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrapoetica/pseuds/astrapoetica
Summary: "He's where he belongs."So how exactly did the government go about arresting and imprisoning Erik after the assassination of President Kennedy? A sort of AU pwp that takes place between X-Men: First Class and Days of Future Past. Some dubious consent issues, a tiny bit of knife play, and a bit of bdsm just for fun. Basically two men who just can't get over their own issues, but are totally obsessed with each other. Have fun reading folks and please leave kind and constructive comments below!





	The Definition of Insanity

"It was very stupid of you to come here, Charles."

Erik's voice hits him like a bucket of cold water, and Charles can't help but try and flinch away from it. Unfortunately the manacles binding him fast were designed to prevent that very type of movement. His body is already aching from being trapped like this, hoisted up like a piece of meat at a slaughter house. He can feel the blood draining from his hands and a buzzing sort of pain setting up, a sort of burning tingling sensation that goes from his finger tips all the way down his arm. He can only imagine how much his wrists and elbows (not to mention his back) are going to be hurting if he isn't released soon. Although with what he's done, he isn't sure that Erik is going to be in the forgiving type of mood.

"From my current position," he jokes, going for levity, "I can't help but agree with you."

He thinks he hears Erik huff out a subdued laugh, but since he can't actually turn his head to see him that fact will remain unverifiable. It's a bit unnerving not being able to see someone while also being unable to read their thoughts. He isn't blindfolded, but for all the good his powers are doing him right now he might as well be. He can't help but think that if he had full access to his powers, he might have been able to prevent the Brotherhood from carrying out their attack fully. Lives might have been saved - or rather one very important life in particular. Then again if he wasn't taking Hank's serum, he wouldn't haven been able to stand upright at all and would have been confined to his wheelchair.

Which torment is preferable? Having the ability to walk and yet no access to his powers, or being in excruciating pain and confined to a wheelchair while able to utilize them? He still hasn't decided, and for now he's chosen to live without the pressure of a thousand minds pressing down on him at once with all their individual worries and concerns. He has enough anxiety and issues to deal with on his own right now, he doesn't have to add to it. Or at least that's what he tells himself so that he can sleep at night.

He supposes that there are worse places that the Brotherhood could have chosen to put him. This cell doesn't appear to be that dank or rat-infested. It is fairly dark though, except for the light coming in from the door that Erik opened when he came in. It's also relatively clean, all things considered, empty except for Charles, and now Erik who is still standing in the doorway behind him. He's secured to the ceiling via restraints that tie his wrists, and to the floor through bonds around his ankle that are secured to a bar that runs the full length of the floor and then straight into the wall, which appears to be made of some sort of cinder block. Quite unbreakable he imagines, unless you have some sort of super strength. _Or metal bending powers,_ he adds to the list with a dry laugh in his own mind.

"So this is your lair then, eh?" he says to try and fill the silence. He's also trying to goad Erik into saying something, anything at all really. Being so close to him and not able to read his thoughts is tormenting, more so even than it has been with Hank and his former students, all disbanded now since the school closed up. He feels a flash of pain when he thinks of what's become of his beloved school, and he closes his eyes, trying to breath in deeply. Above all, he must not panic. Surely Erik isn't planning on hurting or killing him? Of course he can pretty much do whatever he wants to him here, and nobody but Hank will ever know, the only other person who might care...

"Where is Raven anyway?" he asks into the darkness. 

Behind him Erik is so still that for a second Charles wonders if he's even there at all. Perhaps the other man's voice was just a figment of his imagination. There's a long, long pause, long enough for Charles to start to question his sanity and then,

"She left us. A few years ago as a matter of fact."

Charles's eyes shoot open, and he tries again to turn his head to look at Erik, but he can't. All that he gains is a sharp pain is his neck and elbows. Out of the corner of one eye he can see a blurry black shadow of the outline of Erik in the doorway, but beyond that, nothing. He can't make out his features, his clothes... nothing. "Erik..." he tries to control his breathing. "Erik, that isn't funny."

He hears the muffled sound of footsteps, and almost as if he's read Charles's thoughts and sensed his discomfort, Erik appears in his peripheral vision. He stands slightly to the right, putting himself several feet away yet still making himself easily visible. A small gesture of conciliation, perhaps? Charles isn't sure. When Erik finally speaks again, his voice is somber. "It's not supposed to be funny, Charles."

Absurdly the first thing that Charles notices is that Erik isn't wearing his helmet. On that wretched beach in Cuba, the vision of Erik wearing that ugly thing had all but burned itself into his retinas. And even now, years later, that's all he can see in his mind's eye when he pictures his ex-lover. Somehow Charles has started to imagine that after all the things that Erik has done, and after all the things that he's convinced others to do in the Brotherhood's name, that it would start to leave some sort of mark. Something visible, like a tangible representation of evil. A monstrous brand. But right now he just looks like Erik, maybe a bit mussed and tired, as any man would look after a long day. And even though he has a line or two extra around his eyes, he still looks so much like the Erik that Charles had called his own that it makes his heart hurt to look at him.

And in spite of the litany of other horrible things that Erik has done that Charles utterly disagrees with, he can't help but let his eyes scan over him to try and see if he's okay. If he was hurt at all in the latest coordinated attack (against the President no less!). But no, he doesn't look hurt or damaged. In fact, there's barely a mark on him at all. And even though he's clearly tired, his expression is confident and his movements are self-assured. It takes several long moments of Charles observing him, trying to tease out a flaw, a chink in the armor, for him to even find one at all. But when he does he wants to laugh. Because the only hair out of place is indeed Erik's hair, which looks like it hasn't been cut for a few weeks, growing a bit shaggy and wild around the top. The color is far more copper than Charles has ever realized before, and he marvels at the brilliant whorls of color in it as it sticks up just so.

 _You have helmet hair,_ he thinks of joking, but bites the words back down until they die as ashes in his throat. That type of joke belongs to another Erik and Charles, occupying another universe.  _A far happier universe than this one,_ he thinks to himself bitterly. 

He's even changed his clothes since the attack, completing the illusion of himself as a normal man. Before he had been wearing some sort of ridiculous red uniform, complete with a swirling cape. Now he's only wearing a dark black t-shirt and pressed black pants. No longer Magneto - just Erik. Charles struggles to get back to their earlier conversation, realizing that he's nearly forgotten all about Raven.

"Where did she go?" Charles manages to get out, ashamed when his voice breaks a bit, betraying his emotion.

Erik is staring back at him in his unblinking way, those intense blue eyes boring into his. Studying him, doing his own assessment, and Charles can't help but wonder what his final grade will be.

"I'm not sure," Erik states simply, and he does not elaborate.

Charles's eyes fall shut again, and he wills himself not to cry. All these years, he's been relieved to know that even if Raven was far from him, if she was with Erik then she was protected. Erik would never willingly allow anything bad to happen to her (or so Charles has convinced himself). And now to find out that she's been on her own, and God knows where. He can't help but be fearful of where exactly she has been, what precisely she's been doing. But at least she wasn't part of this, an attack on a sitting President, in broad daylight... Maybe she would escape the bomb blast that was Erik Lehnsherr after all. Maybe she had a hope of having a normal life, if only Charles could find her after this.

After this...

"You're all going to go to jail, you know," Charles says. "If not worse."

"They'll have to catch us first."

Charles can't help but laugh at that, opening his eyes to see that Erik is still standing in the same place, almost as if his feet are glued to the floor. "Don't be so sure of yourself, Erik. I think they have whole departments now that specialize in persons such as ourselves."

Erik cocks his head at that, coming in closer to stand so close that Charles can feel his body heat, can smell him, that peculiar metallic ozone smell that is purely Erik. "Persons such as ourselves?" he asks. "And what is that precisely?"

Charles swallows, tries not to make it obvious. He doesn't respond, and Erik goes on: "Because from what I can tell, you don't seem to be quite the man you once were. Once upon a time you could have stopped me out there on that grassy knoll. The old Charles could have frozen me with barely a thought when I was vulnerable and unprotected." He gestures at himself, indicating his lack of a helmet. Charles can't help but wonder where it is, but he doesn't interrupt Erik to ask as he goes on: "And yet you didn't. The answer clearly must be because you lack the ability to do so, and I want to know why. Where are your powers, and what have you done to yourself?"

Words fail him, and Charles just shakes his head. Clearly Erik is fishing for information. He probably wants to know if this change is permanent, and what caused it. But the thought of explaining the devil's choice he's now faced with every single day of his life is overwhelming, and Charles chooses silence rather than giving a direct explanation. 

Naturally Erik is completely unsatisfied with this non-response. He puts his hand out and waits, and a moment later a small kit with four syringes full of Hank's serum floats into it - Charles's backup for this trip. Each one is good for roughly 24 hours, give or take. Azazel or Quested must have taken it off of him after they rendered him unconscious and brought it here. And then they showed it to Erik.

"What is this?" Erik demands directly.

Charles tries to look away, but Erik is there, invading his space again, his face too close to ignore and his eyes too intense for pure sanity. "What is it, Charles? Tell me!"

"I think you already know, old friend."

Erik flings the kit away and it lands somewhere off in the darkness where Charles can't see it. The kit is closed, and he doesn't hear anything break when it lands against the wall with a soft thump. He can't help but sigh with relief, hoping that maybe Erik or one of his lackeys will let him use one of the vials on himself. It's already been a few hours since his last dose, and he's going shaky and light headed with withdrawal. As much as he craves his powers and wants to break out of this jail cell, he can't help but fear the return of the voices in his head and the never ending pain in his back and nervous system.

Clearly enraged, Erik grabs onto the front of his shirt, an old blue jumper over a simple button down shirt, and pulls him forward harshly. "You and Hank should have destroyed it. This formula is poison! Do you know what our enemies could do with it? Do you!" He lets go of him, turning to pace the room, back and forth. "Children will be 'cured' before they even know what they are! Before they realize their full potential! Before you know it this serum will be weaponized, and we'll be facing off soldiers with this in their guns! Our own government shooting us down in the streets. So many lives will be lost! And all," he comes back in close again, "all because you and Hank wanted to hide away from the world like spineless cowards!"

"I was shot, you idiot!" Charles yells, no longer able to hold himself back. "Have you even thought of what became of me! I couldn't walk, Erik! Not at all, because of you! And I lost..." his voice breaks, "I lost the students, the school...." The word 'Raven' hangs between them, unsaid and yet still omnipresent. "And who are you to judge me, with what you've done, what you've become..."

"What I've become?" he draws back, the expression on his face disappearing, folding itself away, tucking the human Erik Lehnsherr back into cold mask of Magneto.

"An attack on the President? There's no coming back from this. None at all. You will be tried, and you will be jailed for life or put to death. That's how this ends. And how will the public perceive us then? As nothing more than murderers, the ultimate threat to their way of life, and perhaps to democracy itself."

Erik laughs, a full bodied dark laugh that sets Charles's teeth on edge. "So dramatic, Charles. You'll never understand, will you? They'll never see us any other way regardless of what we do. You've always been a fool to think otherwise."

He opens his mouth as if to say something else, but the door is suddenly full of someone else's shadow. Charles knows better by now, but he can't help but try and look, gaining more pain in his neck and arms by the minute. His back is already well on its way to agony again, pinpricks of pain manifesting slowly like a constellation of stars across his spine and lower extremities. Pinpricks that will soon turn into a tidal wave that will utterly overcome him. Whispers of thoughts and feelings are swirling around him as well, thoughts and feelings that will soon coalesce into full blown voices and memories. He hangs his head, trying to relax into the bindings to relieve some of the tension. His shoulder length hair falls across his face as Erik goes back to the door to exchange a conversation in lowered voices with what sounds like Azazel. 

No matter what Erik says, he knows that the government will be coming for them. That they'll find them, and take the Brotherhood down, now that they've become such a threat. And Azazel, and Quested, and even Angel - they will all be turned over to the government and a secret shadow trial will occur in a totally fixed court, far from public view and oversight. They will be tried and they will be convicted. And what comes after that, he shudders to think. An execution or worse - the entire group could be turned over for government-sponsored "scientific trials." Most of them aren't even American citizens after all, and it will be all too easy to make them "disappear" for such a purpose. 

The door is shutting now, and darkness descends until tiny lights around the bottom of the floor start to blink into life one by one. It's barely enough to see by, and Charles's eyes struggle to adjust. He wonders if Erik has left to go deal with some crisis or another. That is until he hears the sound of a deadbolt lock clicking into place. His heart picks up pace suddenly, and he pulls futilely against the restraints in the ceiling.

"Erik?" he asks uncertainly.

"You're an idiot, Charles. What did you think was going to happen to you, coming to try to stop us, and without your powers?"

Charles pulls harder, trying to reach out to his powers with a growing sense of panic, but they're still muffled and trying to use them is like trying to breath through a blanket - suffocating and useless.

He feels a gentle hand rest itself on his back near his neck, a claiming touch, and it's too much like what he and Erik used to share, so much so that it's enraging. He pulls again at the chains, but he just succeeds in making his arms hurt again. He relaxes down into the chains, trying to support his feet more fully on the bar below him. He's finding that if he positions himself just so, that he can balance his weight in an almost comfortable manner. "You'll never get away with what you've done, Erik. Hurting me won't help you."

"I'm not going to hurt you, you idealistic imbecile. Although the others think I should, just to impress upon you the futility of coming after us again."

"I'm never going to have to come after you again, Erik. The government will do it for me. And I doubt they'll be as forgiving."

"Is that what you think of yourself as? Forgiving?" Erik laughs darkly, and Charles can feel his breath on his neck as he leans forward. He hasn't removed his hand either, but it's slid downward to stroke up and down his back, and despite himself Charles can't help but lean into it. "The great Charles Xavier, martyr to the masses. If only they knew what you really are."

His hand pauses, sliding up and under his shirt to make contact with the bare skin of his back. Erik is standing close behind him now, his body heat a solid, comforting weight that makes a tiny bit of the pain go away. Charles wants to relax back into him, but he struggles to pull himself forward, trying to get away or at least pull himself more upright.

"Did you miss me, Charles? All those things we used to do together in the dark, those things that the others never knew about. And all those things we never did that we swore we would. I want to know, does it haunt you?"

Erik's hand slides under his shirt, tracing the outline of his back and then his side, finally caressing his rib cage - coming around until they are standing together face to face. His hand is splayed out under his shirt against his chest, and Charles wonders if Erik is measuring his breaths or his heartbeat, too close together and too fast to be casual... 

"Never," Charles hisses in Erik's face. "Not once have I ever, ever missed..."

And then Erik is kissing him, and the lie he was telling is dissolving into mist in the face of his utter non-resistance. He opens his mouth to Erik like a gate swinging open to a conquering army, fully and without any regrets. And Erik is kissing him back as if he's been dreaming about this too, as if he wakes in the night shaking and needy and painfully aroused just like Charles does - remembering what they were to each other once, and perhaps what they could be again.

But then reality is rushing in, reminding him that this is no longer his Erik. This Erik, this _Magneto_ , the things he's done... a too bright sun and clear blue water, the flash of bullets, and the searing, searing pain in his back... Charles tries to break away, but Erik is holding him fast now by his hair.

"Change of heart, Charles?" Erik asks him.

"You're a murderer," he spits out. Of course he didn't see the final moment after the bullet curved, so it's unsure whether or not Kennedy survived. But he can guess what the intentions were. And when Erik aims at a target, he rarely misses.

Charles's face feels numb and tingly as the true enormity of this situation hits him. The President is dead. Dead, and there's no changing that simple fact, no way to erase time and live it over again. His head is swimming in a fog of confusion, and he feels like he isn't getting enough air, dark spots coming in at the corners of his vision as he struggles to control his breathing. Erik must read the horror on his face clearly - his expression shutters, turning icy and secretive. But what does he have to hide? For one wild moment Charles wonders if he's misjudged him, if there's something he doesn't know about this attack. After all, why would Erik try to kill one of the most progressive Presidents on the topic of mutant rights? It doesn't add up.

Futilely he wishes he had his powers back again, so that he could know the truth... but no, he thinks to himself, the idea that there could be more to this story is just a delusion. The truth of it is pure and obvious. Erik has killed a President, and there's no going back to the way things were before. Never.

Erik waves a hand, a knife flying from somewhere in the darkness to land as if by magic into his outstretched palm. Charles flinches backward, pulling on the chains. He can't help but wonder what else is out there in the darkness, lying just out of sight. How many instruments of torture does Erik have, and just what is he planning on doing with him? Charles never would have thought him capable of torturing a friend, but then again, when did he ever imagine that Erik would become a Presidential assassin either?

"Don't look so scared Professor Xavier, I'm not going to hurt your pretty face," Erik drawls. "Or your hair." He pauses, the knife held neatly between his fingers. "Although this," he points it at Charles's chest, drawing it down over his sweater, "this really has to go." 

And starting at the top, he neatly cut Charles's blue sweater up, methodically tearing it off, slowly followed by his white shirt, button by button by button. "Seriously Charles," he continues talking as he's working, "is this what you wear to try and stop a potential assassination of a President? An old blue sweater, a white button down with tiny whales embellished on it, and..." he looks down, then up at Charles again, an expression of severe disappointment on his face. "Pleated tan khakis?"

"I don't think you should be the one criticizing anyone's fashion choices, Erik. That red cape, seriously?" Charles's last word is hissed out as the knife nicks a bit close to his skin, skimming along his stomach as Erik cuts off the last button near his neck. The blue sweater is lying somewhere on the ground now, fully cut off his body, and his white button down is hanging open, exposing his chest to what he now realizes is a relatively chilly room when Erik isn't looming over him. 

He shivers a bit either at the cold or the look in Erik's eyes, it's impossible to say which one it truly is. "Do you really think this is a good time to test the limits of my patience?" Erik asks him, his knife tracing out dull patterns against Charles's sternum. It isn't harsh enough to hurt him or draw blood, but the threat is there all the same. Cold and sharp and perfectly clear. 

"What precisely do you intend to do with me?" Charles asks him, trying to keep his voice calm. Erik gestures, and the knife flies away to clatter back into the darkness somewhere. 

"Isn't that obvious," Erik pauses, his hands taking the place of the knife, skimming down Charles's chest and tweaking his nipples, "old friend?"

"Erik, we aren't..." he searches for words and lamely comes up with, "This isn't appropriate."

Erik's hands slide lower, pulling on Charles's belt and starting in on the clasp. The palpable bulge in Charles's pants is doing nothing to support his protestations that he wants nothing to do with what Erik's hands are doing. He's still struggling for words as Erik pulls the belt free from his pants, making a distinct whooshing sound through the air, the smack of it doing nothing to curb his arousal.

"We aren't lovers anymore," he adds, grasping at straws.

Erik's hand settles on Charles's hard on, gripping the length of him through his underwear. "I'm not talking about some kind of permanent arrangement," the other man replies. "Although I'm very flattered by your offer."

"I'm not, I'm not offering you... I'm saying we aren't... we can't..."  
  
Charles's stilted words are cut off by Erik's mouth meeting his again, harshly. It's almost too harsh, a bruising kiss. But he can't help but lean into him as Erik strokes him expertly. Even through a layer of clothing, his cock is all too eager to betray him, rising up to a full and aching erection that demands attention. He jerks against his restraints, wanting to touch Erik, to take off that t-shirt and reveal what's underneath, to map the planes of Erik's chest like he once did so long ago. The pain in his back is receding now, crushed down by a tidal wave of endorphins.

Erik reaches down to push Charles's pants and the underwear down, trapping them around his ankles. Because of the restraints, they can't come off, and Charles is wondering if he's going to cut them off with the knife the same way he did his sweater and his poor mangled shirt, but then he's through with wondering because Erik is sliding to his feet and taking his cock into his mouth and dear god...

He'd forgotten how good this is, and just how good Erik is at it. His mouth is soft and gentle, taking him in and suckling at him, tracing his tongue around his cock head. He pulls against the restraints, wanting to burrow his hand in Erik's mussed up, sloppy hair. He can't get free, and once again he's all too aware that Erik could do anything to him like this, anything at all... and somehow that thought just makes him harder. 

A few moments later and all too soon, Erik is pulling back, grinning up at him. He looks young again, cheeks flushed and a smile on his face. And suddenly this could be five years ago, the two of them out on a mission to recruit more mutants, staying over at sketchy motel and screwing each other silly before driving back red-eyed and yawning but so happy with themselves that they could burst. Charles wants that back so badly that he could cry. Erik strokes a hand up and down Charles's bare inner thigh, "Tell me again how you don't want this too, Charles?"

He shuts his eyes against the appealing vision, listening to Erik as he stands, moving around so that he's standing behind him again.

There's a sudden, sharp sting of a hand against his backside, and Charles yelps, jerking automatically against his restraints. "What are you doing?"

"You don't get to shut your eyes for this," comes the response. And then another sharp slap that turns his nerves to fire. "Every time you shut your eyes on me," another rhythmic slap, "I'm going to do this."

Charles groans, shutting his eyes again on reflex, and receiving another slap. He wishes he could look back over his shoulder at Erik to properly glare at him, but he knows by now that the gesture would be useless. Instead he has to resort to glaring at the blank wall facing him. "I hate you," he groans out.

"Well your cock," Erik slaps him again, harder this time, and Charles is sure he's going to have red welt marks by the time this is over, "begs to disagree."

"You can't even see what I'm doing right now, how can you tell if my eyes are closed?"

Another slap, and Charles's cock is harder than ever.

"If you have the energy to talk back to me like that then I know I'm not doing my job correctly," Erik retorts.

"You know me too well," Charles says under his breath. He looks down to see Erik kneeling before him again, this time moving something at his feet. He's undoing a manacle and sliding it over, Charles realizes, trying to spread his legs farther apart. The movement is a bit hampered by Charles's pants though, which are still trapped around his ankles.

Erik looks up at him, his expression serious. "These pants are utterly ridiculous. They're going to have to go. Do you want me to cut them off, or can I undo the restraints for a moment and readjust them without having to worry about you trying to escape?"

Charles shuts his eyes, and Erik leans over to slap him, full and hard on his backside. How he got that kind of leverage while kneeling, Charles will never know. His eyes open, meeting Erik's again. This is it, the perfect moment to escape if he truly wants to. Instead he says simply: "You can undo it."

And Erik does, sliding the restraints off with his powers, slowly tugging Charles's pants off, followed by his underpants. He realizes that if he truly wants to get free then now is the moment, when Erik is vulnerable and distracted. He could easily kick him in the face, render him unconscious, and at least try to make a break for it...

A callused hand with a firm touch glides up his ankle, stroking his legs and thighs, urging Charles to spread his feet wider. Then the restraints are on him again: first one, then the other, securing his feet tightly around the ankles until there's no escaping, even if he changes his mind. Erik looks up at him then, his eyes full of some sort of feeling that Charles can't decipher without the assistance of his powers. And then Erik stands up in front of him and pulls him in for a breathless kiss. 

"Can I fuck you now, Charles?" Erik asks him when he finally pulls away.  
  
And with eyes wide open, Charles says yes.

The other man smiles at that, sly and full of teeth like a hungry predator. He walks around behind Charles, slaps him firmly once more, and Charles's head falls forward, hair covering his face as he surrenders. One more slap for good measure, and then he feels Erik's slick fingers preparing him with lube, stroking inside of him with one finger and then another, working him open. The rational part of his brain wants to ask where the lube came from, the other animal part of his brain truly doesn't care. Most likely Erik brought it with him, as preparation for this very eventuality. 

 _He knows me too well,_ Charles thinks to himself again. _That should probably worry me more._ He files it away to feel guilty about later, because he doesn't want to feel anything right now other Erik's fingers moving inside of him, circling closer and closer, and oh! He jerks forward as Erik finally hits his prostrate. He feels like his cock can't possibly get any harder, and he's starting to feel desperate for an orgasm. A sort of dull aching has set up camp in his balls and just won't go away. A drumming for more, more, more...

Erik chuckles as if he knows exactly how Charles is feeling, and then there's the sound of his belt coming undone, his pants sliding down, and the slick sound of him working his hands on his own cock. Charles feels precum beading up and sliding down his cock, mixing in with the wet lube leaking out of him from behind. He feels empty and somehow undone, waiting there openly for Erik with no means of covering himself up. All he can do is stand there and wait for what feels like an eternity, and then Erik is pushing into him, and the angle is a bit strange at first but then he's inside of him, and it's glorious, like everything he's ever remembered and more.

It feels incredible, and he pulls against the restraints again, even the feeling of being trapped now heightening his arousal. Erik's pushing into him, searching for that spot, and when he hits it Charles feels like he's going to explode any second. Like everything inside of him is electric pleasure, and nothing will ever feel this good again.

"Fuck," he grits out, trying to get more leverage to grind down as Erik pushes into him again and again. "Fuck," he says again, feeling the desperation build up in him again, wishing he didn't need this so much...

Erik wraps a hand around his cock, stroking him up and down, twisting off at the end every time - just how Charles likes it. And then Charles is coming for what feels like forever, almost too much sensation flooding through him now, and he thinks he's screaming but he isn't sure. When he comes back to himself, it's to the feeling of Erik pulling out of him, cum dripping down his leg. It should be utterly disgusting, but he feels unmade and wrung out, and he really can't be bothered about anything right now.

Erik runs his hands up and down his sides, kissing his neck and muttering things under his breath to him that Charles can't quite make out in his befuddled state. The other man cleans him up with his discarded underwear, coming around with his eyes averted from Charles, which is quite the trick from his height.

"Well Erik, whatever am I going to wear now?" Charles says just to break the silence. He laughs nervously, wondering just where the hell the two of them are supposed to go from here. 

And Erik looks at him then finally, and his eyes are mischievous. "Perhaps I should just leave you here like this, Professor Xavier. You're a very pretty decoration to have hanging around the house."

"You're going to have to let me go eventually," comes the rather sober response.

Erik's eyes drop down again, no longer dancing with happiness. "Yes I suppose I will." He leans his head forward, resting it for a moment against Charles's shoulder. "Perhaps when Hank shows up with the black ops unit that's been tracking you, I'll let you go."  
  
Charles swallows, feeling uneasy. He thinks about denying it, and then immediately discards that train of thought to ask the obvious question: "If you know that they're tracking me, why did you bring me here?"

"You're such a fool, Charles. And you always will be."

Erik's eyes meet his, and Charles suddenly realizes what this has all been about. The slow touches and the incredible orgasm - it's Erik's way of saying goodbye. Forever.

"Such a fool." Erik kisses him again, long and lingering. "How did you not realize that I never intended to escape?"

Charles shakes his head in disbelief as realization dawns, a sickly crawling feeling awakening in his stomach along with it. He tries to push away the sudden rise of nausea, and bites back the bile coming up in the back of his throat. He tells himself for the thousandth time that Erik is dangerous, and that he needs to be caught. 

 _I'm doing the right thing,_ he whispers to himself internally, repeating it over and over again like a mantra. If he repeats it enough times, it must be true right? 

_I'm doing the right thing, the right thing, the right thing..._

Hours later, when Hank and the black ops unit finally do show up and the Brotherhood surrenders without a fight, he's still repeating it. By then Charles is back in respectable clothes, probably pulled from Erik's own wardrobe. Hank administers a dose of the serum as Charles sits and watches them attach power-suppressing bands to the wrists and throats of the remaining members of the Brotherhood - those who chose to stay with Erik rather than run away while they still could. 

Charles shuts his eyes and tries to block out the thoughts that are swimming hazily around his head. Luckily the serum works quickly, effectively shutting out most of the minds around him. He sags back with relief, his eyes opening to lock onto Erik's as the agents lead him away. He forces a glare onto his face, but all he gets is a lazy smile in return. It seems somehow that Erik is where he wants to be - ironically, headed for prison.

_I'll see you later, Charles._

He turns, wondering if the echo of Erik's voice in his mind was real or not. But Erik has already disappeared, swallowed up into the military jet that the black ops team is using to transport him and the Brotherhood to some sort of secret prison raft in the middle of the ocean while they await trial.

He focuses his energy, trying to direct the last bit of his fading powers in the psychic direction of that tantalizing voice: _I truly hope so,_ _old friend. I truly hope so._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I hope you all enjoyed it! I just wanted to present some alternative titles that I considered for this fic: 
> 
> -The Long Goodbye  
> -Betrayed by Sex!!  
> -Sex-trayal: Charles Xavier/Erik Lehnsherr the Insider Edition  
> -Charles Xavier is the Honeypot, and Erik Lehnsherr is stuck all the goddamn way inside of it  
> -The Best Outfit to Wear to a Presidential Assassination
> 
> Cheers!


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